


One Step In His Reality

by neoguri



Category: Block B
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Awkward Flirting, Blow Jobs, Drinking, First Dates, Gay Panic, M/M, Musical References, Secret Relationship, So many tropes, Strangers to Lovers, Tattoos, block b fanwork frenzy, but we love him anyway, fish food, idiots to lovers, jiho is a dumbass, jiho is so high-strung it's almost sad, jiho's juicy lips yumm, taeil is unbothered as usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-05 23:55:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20497472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neoguri/pseuds/neoguri
Summary: "Everything was an excuse to see you. I find you very interesting, actually.” He takes a moment to flatten his bangs over his forehead, seemingly oblivious to the way Jiho’s breath has caught in his throat. “I need some normalcy in my life, I need friends who aren't idols or just using me for my money.” Taeil looks back up at him from under dark lashes. “And you didn’t even know who I was.”“I’m sorry,” Jiho says without thinking.“No,” Taeil says, “it’s perfect.”





	One Step In His Reality

**Author's Note:**

> for dan, with love - and i'm sorry in advance for the cringe

  
  


He’s been standing there, one hand in the pocket of his baggy jeans, browsing through the records on the shelf for a good twenty minutes now. Everything he wears is huge, hangs off his body; it makes him look tiny. Jiho gulps. He grabs the edge of the counter with a white-knuckled grip and wills himself not to pass out. This is the third time the man has come into his shop this week. This is the third time Jiho has spent his shift staring at a stranger from behind his counter, trying to gather up the courage to talk to him, like a dumb high school movie trope. Jiho thinks he has a few good conversation starters in mind, ones that will work no matter what, but his heart is racing so fast he can feel it in his throat and his arms are shaking a bit. It’s been a long time since Jiho has been this flustered around anyone. He thinks it must be those tattoos. Jiho’s always had a thing for tattoos.

Jiho glances around the shop. There’s no one else here. Not even his manager. He pricks up his ears and listens to the overhead music, struggling to recognize the song past the hush of the fan beside him. Once he catches the tune, he hums along, trying to soothe himself. He sits back on his stool and fishes his book from under the counter. He starts to calm down. Based on the last couple times he’s been here, it will be a while before the stranger comes over.

“You know this song?”

The voice catches Jiho by surprise. He jumps, almost topples off his stool as his head snaps up. The stranger strolls up to him, a couple records under one arm, his other hand still in his pocket.  _ His eyes are so pretty _ , Jiho thinks as he scrambles to put his book away. The last two times he was wearing glasses. This time he isn’t, and Jiho can see his large, dark eyes, his long gorgeous lashes.

“Yeah,” Jiho says. “ _ ‘It Was Love.’ _ I’ve been meaning to look up the singer. Love his voice.”

The man cocks his head to listen, and Jiho thinks his heart might burst out from between his ribs.

“I think I sound pretty unremarkable here, but I’m glad someone likes it,” he finally says. He sets the records down on the counter, fishing for his wallet.

Jiho stares at him, trying to process the comment. When he figures it out, he goes a little weak at the knees, and has to grab the counter again. “I’m sorry,” he says, “you--”

“Yeah, this is me.” The man gestures vaguely, grimacing. “God, talk louder. I can’t stand it.”

Jiho stammers for a minute. Then he says, maybe a little too loudly, “Um, what are you getting?”

“These.” He pushes the records toward Jiho on the table, a small smirk pulling just a little at one corner of his mouth. “Ring me up, please, I’ve got somewhere to be.”

“Right. Sure. Sorry.” Jiho scans the records and then goes back to staring. “I just, I can’t believe you’re the guy who sings this. I don’t know how I didn’t recognize you.”

“Is cash okay?” the man interrupts.

“Oh. Yeah,” Jiho says. He fumbles with the bills for a moment, trying to remember how to count. Why can’t he just pay with a card? Then maybe Jiho won’t have to embarrass himself.

“I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me,” the man says, “considering how much you’ve been staring.”

Jiho grits his teeth and wonders if the floor will swallow him up forever. “I wasn’t staring,” he mumbles. He shoves the change across the counter, not meeting the man’s eyes. “I just like your tattoos.”

The man laughs, and it’s a clear and light and effortless sound, just like his singing. “I like yours too. But you don’t catch me staring, do you?” He glances over his shoulder at the door, then plants an elbow on the counter and leans in. “Give me your phone,” he says.

Jiho stares. “I - what?”

“Give me your phone,” the man repeats. “This is the last time I’m coming here. At least for a while. But I’d like to know what your tats mean, so I’ll give you my number and we can talk about it sometime.” He reaches out, presses the tips of his fingers to Jiho’s right forearm, and Jiho’s whole body erupts in goosebumps. “Especially this one. I can’t read English very well.”

Jiho doesn’t have the will to say no. He fishes his phone out of his back pocket and hands it over. The man leans back and punches in his info, the sleeves of his sweater slipping back from his knuckles and revealing the tattoos on the back of his hands. Jiho licks his lips and reaches over to turn up the fan, absently, shifting between feet as a wave of heat seems to flash over him, chasing away the goosebumps.

“There.” The man hands back Jiho’s phone. Jiho reads the contact name. Lee Taeil. “Text, don’t call. I don’t answer calls.” He pockets his change, tucks the records back under his arm. “Your nametag is cute, by the way. Jiho. I love that name.” He waves, then turns and pushes his way out of the shop, the bell jingling as the door closes behind him.

Jiho twists his name tag between two fingers, watching the door long after Taeil has left. He glances down, just to check. The pan pride sticker is still there, a little faded from how long he’s had it. Is that what Taeil called cute? Does Jiho even dare to hope?

He sits back down and opens his phone, stares at Taeil’s number. The whole thing seems a little surreal. Jiho flicks open his browser and looks up Lee Taeil, only to find pictures that exactly match the man who’s been visiting his shop every other day for the past week. Jiho can hardly believe his eyes. He sits there and scrolls through photo after photo, eyes getting bigger as he goes. He almost drops his phone when the bell jingles again, heart racing as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He welcomes the group of girls who enters, voice a little weak.

They don’t greet him back. They’re talking amongst themselves in all too loud whispers, and Jiho can hear everything they’re saying.

“It wasn’t him. It can’t be.”

“Of course it was, I could recognize him anywhere. Didn’t you see him?”

One of them breaks off from the group and strides purposefully over to Jiho, her sharp heels clicking on the polished wood floor. Jiho straightens up in his chair. “Can I help you with anything?” he asks.

She smiles without any teeth. “Yeah, my boyfriend was just in here? Lots of tattoos, kind of short? Did he happen to tell you where he was going? He was supposed to meet me just outside, but--”

“You’re so full of shit,” one of the other girls snaps. She takes her friend’s arm, tugging her away. “Come on, he won’t know, anyway.” She shoots Jiho an apologetic look and drags her friend back out of the shop. The other two follow close behind in a mess of swinging bags and angry hissing whispers. Jiho stares after them, blankly, his mind still whirling.

The rest of Jiho’s shift goes by in a blur. He tries his damndest not to think about Taeil, because every time he does, his heart takes off fluttering and he feels sick. He keeps taking out his phone, staring at Lee Taeil’s contact, hovering his thumb over the text symbol and then chickening out and pocketing it again. He gets so close, once, even going as far as to type out “hi” before deleting it. Eventually, he goes back to reading. He has to read the same sentence four times before he understands it.

He knows he’s being stupid, but he can’t help it. He still feels Taeil’s fingers on his arm and it gives him chills.

When he finally clocks out, takes his lunch - that he didn’t eat - and walks out to his car, the fresh air clears his head. He turns on his car, rolls down his window and just lays back against the seat for a moment, taking deep breaths. Then he turns on his stereo. And that song must be following him, because Taeil’s voice greets him again, powerful and clear and with the subtlest vibrato, a sound that cuts right through him. Jiho closes his eyes and listens to the ups and downs of the vocal melody. He’d have to be stupid to pass up a chance to get to know the guy.

So Jiho texts him. It takes him a good ten minutes to draft two simple sentences. “Hi, it’s Jiho from the music shop. What’s up?” He sends it and then starts up his car and drives home without looking at it again. He’s so nervous that any distraction is welcome.

Jiho actually manages to forget about it for a few minutes. He parks his car and gets halfway up the elevator to his apartment before he remembers. He tries to ignore his phone, stares fixedly at the glowing button panel in front of him. But his willpower crumbles in moments. He shifts his lunchbox in his arms, snatches his phone from his pocket. His heart races when he sees the new message.

“Ah, Jiho. It’s great to finally talk to you. I’m not up to much. Taking advantage of my night off.” Jiho has to read the next part twice. “I just can’t stop thinking about you.”

The elevator doors slide open. Jiho doesn’t notice until they are closing again. He almost drops everything as he shoulders his way through, stumbling out into the hall beyond. Then he just stands there, blocking the elevator doors, staring at his phone. His stomach flutters. He can’t have read that right. He can’t.

Jiho stumbles down the hall to his apartment and fumbles with his keys. Somehow, he manages to get the door open, manages to get inside and lock the door behind him before heading inside and collapsing onto the couch. He wonders if there’s any platonic way Taeil could mean that; there must be. But he can’t think of any. And it scares him.

It excites him, too.

He takes even longer to respond, this time. He’s been sitting there, motionless, for almost half an hour when he finally hits send. His mind is spinning, it doesn’t feel real. Taeil is way, way out of his league. Probably just messing with him, if Jiho is honest with himself; but for once, he doesn’t seem to care. Jiho wants this more than he’ll let himself know.

“I’ve been thinking about you too,” his text says. He thinks about writing more, but he’s too anxious to see Taeil’s reaction. He forces himself to put his phone away, to refrigerate his uneaten lunch for tomorrow and make something else. He’s too absent minded even to microwave a bowl of ramen properly; he puts it in too long, it boils and overflows. It takes him too long to clean it up. He curses at the microwave, at himself, at the half empty bowl that’s dripping noodles onto his counter, and gives up on making anything else. He’s tired and pathetic and just wants to go to bed. He shovels the few remaining bites of ramen in his mouth and treks back through the clutter to his bed on the opposite side of the room.

Taeil has replied again. Jiho thinks his risk of having a heart attack is a lot higher today than it’s ever been. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths before reading.

“You’re so cute.”

Jiho actually blushes.

“I’d invite you to coffee with me, but we’d get mobbed and it’d ruin the mood. I’d come back to the shop, but we’d have the same problem there. And I have a feeling you’d be nervous coming to my house. It’s a bit of a predicament. Isn’t it?”

Jiho reaches for the half-empty can of coffee on his bedside table and chugs it. His mouth has gone dry.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Taeil writes. “But I really do want to get to know you.”

Jiho doesn’t let himself think. “I’d be fine going to your house,” he writes.

“Oh. Well then.” Jiho imagines he can hear Taeil’s little chuckle. “If you’re sure.”

“Yeah. Been a while since I’ve gone out,” Jiho writes.

“It’s settled.” It takes a while for Taeil’s next message to send, and Jiho almost goes crazy from waiting. “Do you work tomorrow?”

“Yes, until eight,” Jiho responds.

“Lovely. Come over when you’re done, I’ll make dinner.” He sends Jiho his address.

Jiho stares at the street name for a moment, realization fully hitting him for the first time. This is a nice part of town. Taeil is famous. Of course he has a nice house. Taeil is  _ famous _ , and he’s talking to Jiho, of all people. Not the pretty girls who showed up in the shop looking for him. Not another idol. He’s inviting  _ Jiho  _ over. And Jiho suddenly panics because there’s no way he has anything nice enough to wear tomorrow; even Taeil’s plain jeans and pullover from today were probably more expensive than Jiho’s entire wardrobe. Jiho drops his phone, falls back to his bed with a groan, covering his face with his hands. He wants to bail out already. But… the opportunity is just too enticing to pass up. Jiho sits up again. He grabs his phone and writes something he knows he’ll regret, something that usually he’d only dare say to a regular person he already knew.

“I’ll make sure to wear something cute.”

There’s a long moment without reply, in which Jiho wishes he could delete everything and hide under his blankets forever. Then Taeil says, “Please do.”

Jiho makes a sound that’s embarrassingly close to a squeal. He writes out something along the lines of “see you tomorrow,” and then throws his phone onto his bedside table and tunnels under his blankets, covering his head with his pillow, burying his face in his mattress. The longer this goes on, the less real it feels. Maybe it’s partially because Jiho is exhausted and sleep deprived, but he keeps making up scenarios in his head as he drifts off to sleep. He imagines Taeil’s house as a huge, shiny mansion, the kind he’d see on TV, with a butler and a courtyard garden. He pictures having tea with Taeil in front of a fountain in the courtyard. Birds chirping in the arbor overhead. That’d be nice.

He wonders if Taeil is the type to drink tea, or if he prefers fine wines and liquors. The last thing he pictures before he loses consciousness is Taeil pouring whisky into a china teacup and sipping it with his little finger sticking out.

Jiho isn’t prepared to face the day. He wakes up groggy and sweaty from a vaguely intense dream that he forgets seconds after he sits up. It takes him most of his morning routine to remember the events of last night. When he does, he drops his toothbrush into the sink and rushes to check his phone. There’s no new messages from Taeil, and Jiho’s heart sinks. Of course there isn’t. Taeil doesn’t have anything more to say. But Jiho is still disappointed. He goes about the rest of his morning with an odd combination of restlessness and lethargy. 

He tries forcing himself to forget about it. His self-discipline has always been one-of-a-kind, uniquely strong, but this time is different. Typically he can control his thoughts with minimal effort to get things done. It’s how he’s survived. Now, though, he barely has the presence of mind to drive to work.

He’s ditzy all throughout his shift. Dropping things, blanking out or stammering when customers ask him questions. He doesn’t realize it until halfway through, but there are a lot more customers today. He hears Taeil’s name dropped and comes back to reality with a feeling like a bucket of ice water being poured over his head. Jiho starts to listen to their conversations. Dread pools in his stomach as he realizes, these people know more about Taeil than he does. He excuses himself to his coworker Dongwook and rushes to the bathroom in the back of the shop, locks himself inside and takes a few deep breaths.

He’s freaking out. He hates it, but he figures he has every right. What will happen if someone figures out he’s going to Taeil’s house tonight? What if he accidentally leads them to it and they learn where Taeil lives? Taeil would hate his guts for that.

Jiho takes some more deep breaths and forces himself to be calm. He checks his phone and almost panics again. There’s another message from Taeil.

“Good morning, Jiho. How are you? I hope your shift is going smoothly.”

_ He texts like an old man, _ Jiho thinks, and covers his mouth to stifle a nervous giggle. He has to take a few breaths before responding. This time, it doesn’t take him nearly as long. Maybe he’s getting practice at not giving a shit.

“Morning. I’m good. There are a lot of your fans in the shop today.”

Jiho splashes his face with water and uses his shirt to dry it. He runs a hand through his hair, fluffing it up. It falls back down limply. He forgot pomade this morning. He’ll have to stop by his apartment again before heading to Taeil’s; he’s got to be at least somewhat presentable. He checks Taeil’s messages one more time.

“Oh god, I’m sorry. Are you sure they’re mine and not yours?”

Jiho snorts at his phone. “Why would they be my fans?”

“It’s hard to resist your looks.”

Jiho drags a hand down his face and pockets his phone. No, he’s not doing this right now. He just got his concentration back. He leaves Taeil on read and ventures back into the shop.

Most of the fans have left. Jiho gives Dongwook the thumbs up, signaling that he’s free to go on break. Dongwook hops off the stool behind the register - it's too tall for him, and he stumbles a bit before catching himself on the counter.

"You were here when Lee Taeil came in, huh?" Dongwook asks, eyes wide.

Jiho nods. It's hard not to smile when Dongwook looks at you like that.

"Did you get his autograph?" Dongwook asks.

"No," Jiho says. "I didn't even know who he was until he told me."

Dongwook makes some kind of small screeching noise and presses his hands to his face in distress. "Oh man… wish I'd been there instead of you." He grimaces. "I've been dying to meet him, he's such an inspiration. I can't believe you, Jiho."

Jiho doesn't even think before saying, "You'll get to meet him eventually, don't worry."

"No way. I don't have that kind of money." Dongwook sighs, almost wistfully, and stuffs his hands in his pockets. He shuffles away to the break room.

Jiho takes his place on the stool and glances around the shop, making sure he's alone again before he checks his messages with Taeil. He tries not to think too hard about his response. Taeil has just complimented him. What does he do now?

He doesn't have to worry for long, though, because Taeil has sent a second message. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

"No, it's okay," Jiho quickly writes back. "So you think I'm irresistible...? First time anyone's said that." It's stupid, but it’s the best response he can formulate at the moment.

Taeil writes back within seconds. "That's a surprise. It's kind of obvious, don't you think?"

"Even if it was, people wouldn't tell me." Jiho types it out, then erases it because it's way more angsty than he wants to come off right now. Once again, he's stumped on what to say. He stares at his screen for another blank moment before giving up and tucking away his phone once more. Why is it so goddamn hard to  _ talk  _ to this man?

Jiho doesn't know how he makes it through his shift. He doesn’t take a break; it’s only a few hours anyway, and after everyone figures out Taeil hasn’t come back today, business clears up a bit. There are still a good deal of people coming in, looking around, and leaving without buying anything. At least they’re getting  _ some  _ business. Jiho hasn’t seen this many people in the shop since the first month he worked here.

He wonders if he can convince Taeil to come back, maybe even endorse the place. Maybe then he won’t have to look for a new job.

Dongwook leaves before he does, and Jiho spends the last half hour alone. He doesn’t mind it. He likes having the moments of peace and quiet, especially today, when his mind is so full. He even manages to write Taeil back. It takes him a while, but so does everything today.

“I think your charm is more obvious. And you have a better presence than me. My stance kind of reads ‘go away’.”

“Not to me,” Taeil responds.

“You don’t think I’m intimidating?”

“Not at all. You’re more cute than scary. How can anyone be intimidated by those squishy cheeks?”

Once again, Jiho finds himself blushing at his phone. He tugs at his cheeks, looks at his reflection to see if he really does look as  _ squishy _ as Taeil says. Okay, so maybe he is a bit baby-faced. He’s gained weight since graduation, but not that much.

“It’s just my facial structure,” he types back, a little grumpily. “It makes my cheeks look round.”

“Exactly,” Taeil writes. “And it’s adorable.”

Jiho huffs and tucks his phone away, scratching the back of his arm a little too roughly. He knows Taeil means well but that doesn’t keep him from being kind of pissed off. He’d much rather be intimidating than cute. He wonders if Taeil does see him as a kid after all. He doesn’t know how to interpret any of this. Jiho likes to think he’s observant, but he can never read tone over text and it infuriates him.

He clocks out hastily when he gets the chance. It’s just past five, and Jiho is starting to feel that first-date anxiety coiling in his gut. The worst part is that he doesn’t even know if it’s a date. And he’s too shy to ask. If he knew, maybe he’d be more sure of how to act.

Jiho rushes home. He focuses on driving carefully, is even a lot slower than usual. The sun is already starting to go down but he doesn’t notice the darkening sky. His mind is filled with daydreams, he’s trying to picture every way tonight could go. Minutes seem to stretch longer, the longer he waits.

And maybe he’s bad at distracting himself. Cleaning his apartment would have been a great idea, if he listened to his usual audiobook. But instead he decides to put on a playlist of Taeil’s music and listen to it all the way through. Like an idiot. Jiho is frustrated at himself, but at the same time, Taeil’s voice is just so fucking perfect that he doesn’t really feel presented with a choice.

He has to drain several cans of beer before he’s relaxed enough to sleep. And when he does sleep, his dreams are strange and - he hates to admit - almost sexual. The first thing he thinks when he wakes up is  _ fuck Taeil _ , but that’s a little too close to what his brain has been considering on its own all night, and so he ignores it as best he can, and tries to go about his day with at least some sense of normalcy.

  
  


Taeil’s house isn’t quite a mansion. If it had been, Jiho might have been able to separate himself enough from the experience to ignore the drastic difference in class. But Taeil doesn’t live in a palace, or really anything of the sort. It’s just a really, really nice house. Jiho drives up the long curved gravel path at a crawl, staring wide-eyed at the emerald green lawn, at the trees that stand tall above him and droop over the path, turning the evening to dusk with a gentle shade. There’s another car parked near the front of the house, and Jiho prays that he won’t be doing something wrong by taking that queue. He pulls up a few feet from the car, giving it plenty of room. The car itself looks like it’s twenty times as expensive as his own, and he doesn’t want to risk even breathing near it. Jiho parks and then just sits there, silent, drawing in deep breaths through his nose.

“This is crazy,” he murmurs to himself. “This is fucking crazy.” What the hell does Taeil want with him, of all people? He’s suspended disbelief well enough until this point. Maybe he can keep that up long enough to have some fun tonight. He doesn’t let himself think about what that means, though.

Jiho climbs out of his car and rounds the front of it. He stands at the end of the gravel drive for several moments, just staring up at the house. It’s just one story, which makes it slightly less intimidating. The architecture is so pretty, though. Jiho hopes he won’t feel too out of place once he gets inside. He ascends the steps to the front porch, pressed his fingertip to the fancy doorbell. Fuck, he’s already chipped the polish on one nail. He knew he shouldn’t have tried to paint them before coming here. He rocks back and forth on his heels, examines his nails quickly to make sure the rest aren’t messed up - not like there’s anything he can do now - and his chest tightens a little more with every second he waits. He wonders if he should ring the doorbell again. He’s just reaching out for it when he hears a rustle from within the house. Jiho quickly steps back and smiles politely as he waits.

The door opens inward and Jiho’s heart skips a beat when he sees Taeil’s face poking out.

“Jiho!” Taeil grins. He’s wearing his glasses this time, huge round coke bottle glasses that distort his face a bit and make his eyes look bigger than they are. He’s wearing a different oversized sweater, this one fluffy and checkered red and black, and a pair of black jeans. The sweater hangs to mid-thigh on him, the sleeves pool around his wrists when he pulls them up, and the neck is so wide that it slips a bit to one side, not quite off the shoulder, but still exposing just enough skin to make Jiho catch his breath. Taeil’s tattoos are so damn  _ gorgeous _ he doesn’t know whether to look at his face or his neck.

“Hi,” Jiho says, hoping he doesn’t sound too breathless.

Taeil beckons him inside. “I’m so glad you came,” he says. “I was worried you’d decide to ditch me. I’m kind of a weirdo through text.”

Jiho giggles, a bit awkwardly, slips off his shoes in the entryway. “No, I thought it was…” he stops himself from saying ‘cute’ at the last moment. “I thought it was funny.”

Taeil tips back his head to laugh, and Jiho can’t help but stare as the muscles in his neck stretch taut. “I’m glad I was able to entertain you,” he says. Jiho’s body goes a little tingly at those words. “Come on. Follow me.”

Jiho follows closely after Taeil, feet padding gently on the tile floor. Jiho can feel how cold it is, even through his socks, and it makes his toes curl. He finds himself wishing he’d brought a sweater himself.

“My family lives here too,” Taeil says. “But they’re out for the night so we can have some peace and quiet. I love them, but they can be a bit nosy when I have company over.” He grimaces, and Jiho wonders how anyone could possibly be this cute. “I had a friend over a while back, when I was helping her record a song. My family thought we were sleeping together. No thanks. Not for me.”

Jiho isn’t quite sure what to make of this comment, so he tries his best to ignore it, for now. “My mom always asks if I’ve got a girlfriend yet,” he says, even though casual conversation is killing him right now.

“Ah, but that’s different, isn’t it?” Taeil says. “You actually like girls. You’re pan.” He glances over his shoulder, meets Jiho’s eyes, and his gaze seems to casually stab right through him. “Or did you just think the colors on the flag looked pretty?”

Jiho almost stammers. He’s somehow intimidated, despite Taeil being the sweetest and softest looking man he’s ever met. He curls his fingers around the hem of his shirt and says, “No, yeah, you’re right. I’m pan.”

He can hear the smirk in Taeil’s voice when he says, “I knew it. Your nails are gorgeous, by the way.”

Jiho doesn’t know what to say, other than a small “thank you,” so he keeps silent, following close behind Taeil and deeper into the house. He gets a peek into some of the rooms as they pass by, though most of the doors are closed. It’s a gorgeous house. The furniture is sparse, but not in a way that makes the place seem unlivable. Jiho makes a mental note to ask where Taeil got it all. Not like he’ll be able to afford it.

“Here,” Taeil says, and stops mid-stride, turning to one of the doors. “You’re not afraid of fish, are you?”

“Afraid of--” Jiho blinks. “Why would I be afraid of fish?”

“It’s just a question,” Taeil says with mock exasperation. He grins at Jiho, then pushes open the door and sweeps his arm out to the side, gesturing into the room. “Behold… my aquarium.”

Jiho tiptoes over the doorway and really does feel like he’s entered an aquarium. The lights are turned down low and the walls are lined with huge fish tanks. Jiho’s mouth falls open. There must be hundreds of fish. Some of them are small, so small he can only see them when they dart around and catch the light. Others are huge, lumbering things that drift slowly in their tanks with their mouths open. Jiho glances between them and Taeil. When he sees the look of complete adoration on Taeil’s grinning face, he almost laughs out loud.

“Oh my god,” he says. “You really like fish.”

“Yep,” Taeil says. “These are my babies. This is the only good thing about being famous - I have money for my children.” He edges past Jiho and strides over to one of the tanks, crouches down and rummages on the shelf beneath the tank. Jiho stands over his shoulder, watching curiously. Taeil grabs a large box of fish food - almost too big for him to hold in his tiny hand - and a small scoop.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Taeil says, “but I’ve got to feed these guys before we do anything else.” He pushes himself back to his feet with a grunt.

“I can help,” Jiho says. “Show me how to do it.”

Taeil raises an eyebrow at him. Then he puts on a rough theatrical voice and says, “Are you sure you’re cut out for this grueling task, my boy?”

“I’ll manage,” Jiho says with a snort.

“Swear it,” Taeil says in that same voice. “Swear it on your life that you’ll aid my children. Promise me that--” He makes an odd choking sound and for a moment Jiho is worried, until Taeil bursts into laughter. “Sorry. I’m really not used to--” He has to set down the fish food because suddenly he’s doubled over, laughing so hard he can’t breathe, and he’s making a small wheezing noise that makes him sound like a hamster. It’s so awkward and silly and the laugh is so contagious that Jiho finds himself giggling too.

When Taeil finally wipes his eyes and stands back up, his whole face is flushed. “God, that was bad. I’m sorry, Jiho.” His voice is high and breathy. “Please feel free to leave the moment you decide you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Jiho says. “That was hilarious.” He needs more friends like this. Well, he needs more friends in general. He hasn’t laughed like this in a while.

Taeil’s attention seems to have already turned back to the fish. “Taeil Junior looks hungry,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. “You’d better get the special feed. He’s the one in the tank over there, the guy with the big lips.” He reaches down again, grabs a smaller box and hands it to Jiho. “Just sprinkle some of this over his head, he’ll notice it eventually.”

“Hold up.” Jiho glares at Taeil. “What’s his name again?”

“Taeil Junior.” Taeil’s innocent grin makes Jiho melt, despite the stupidity of what is happening. “Junior for short.”

“Fucking hell.” Jiho snatches the feed from Taeil’s hand and stalks over to the other tank. “You’re crazy. Anyone ever told you that?”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Taeil says. “I’ve learned to take it as a compliment.”

Jiho glances over his shoulder. Taeil is calmly scooping fish food out of the box and sprinkling it over the water. He starts humming to himself so quietly Jiho can barely hear. Jiho watches him, staring as Taeil sets down the scoop for a moment to pull the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows, one by one. His arms are more lean and muscular than Jiho realized. His tattoos seem to twitch as his muscles pull tight with those simple motions, and Jiho is fascinated. Maybe a little more than fascinated.

Taeil hesitates, then glances back at Jiho. Their eyes meet for a fraction of a second and then Jiho looks away, trying to pretend he was doing what he was supposed to. He hears Taeil chuckle.

“You okay there kid?”

Taeil’s voice has gone soft and it gives Jiho chills.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Jiho says. “I spaced out for a moment. Sorry.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Taeil smirk. Once again, Jiho feels like Taeil can see right through him. It’s less intense, now that his eyes are shielded by his glasses, but Jiho still gets the uncomfortable feeling that Taeil knows every thought that’s crossing through his head.

“A few pinches should be enough for now,” Taeil finally says, and turns back to his fish. “Just to see if he’s hungry.”

“Okay.” Jiho stands on tiptop and lifts the top of the aquarium. He shakes a few pinches of food into the water and then waits, watching the fish lazily blow bubbles that rise to the top and burst in the air.

Taeil goes about the room, feeding the other tanks. Jiho is afraid to look at him now, so he just keeps watch on the large-lipped fish as it ignores the food. After a few minutes, Taeil finishes his rounds and walks back over, coming to a stop at Jiho’s side.

“Not hungry?” he asks.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Jiho says.

Taeil sighs, then leans in and presses a finger to the glass, sticking out his lower lip in a pout. “Junior, what are you doing? Is the scary man making you nervous?” He chuckles, then takes the feed from Jiho. “He’s frightened of anyone taller than me. Which is a lot of people. Come on.” He turns round on his heel and replaces the feed on its shelf before leading Jiho back out of the room, closing the door behind them.

“How about you?” Taeil asks, turning to him with a devilish grin. “Did the smell of fish food pique your appetite?”

Jiho presses his lips tight together to hold back a laugh. “No, but I’m hungry anyway,” he says.

Taeil pokes Jiho’s arm. “Come on, loosen up. You can joke with me. I’m not intimidating, am I?” He pulls his sleeves over his hands and hunches up in his sweater, making him look even smaller than before. “There. No tattoos. Is that better?”

Jiho giggles, then clenches his jaw shut - though he’s still smiling. “I’m not intimidated,” he says, “not by you necessarily… It’s just, I don’t know. I feel bad.”

Taeil sticks out his lip in a pout, still turtling inside of his sweater. “Why’s that?”

“I should be entertaining you or something, I don’t know.” He shrugs, breaking Taeil’s gaze. “I’m not a very interesting person.”

Taeil straightens up, takes a step closer. Jiho glances back at him, and they lock eyes for a moment. “Why do you think I came back to that store?” Taeil asks.

Jiho’s heart flutters. “I guess because you needed more records. Maybe you liked the atmosphere of the place.”

“Well, that too,” Taeil says. “But mostly everything was an excuse to see you. I find you very interesting, actually.” He takes a moment to flatten his bangs over his forehead, seemingly oblivious to the way Jiho’s breath has caught in his throat. “I need some normalcy in my life, I need friends who aren't idols or just using me for my money.” Taeil looks back up at him from under dark lashes. “And you didn’t even know who I was.”

“I’m sorry,” Jiho says without thinking.

“No,” Taeil says, “it’s perfect.” He eyes Jiho for another moment, then smiles casually and nods his head down the hall. “Come on, the kitchen is this way.”

Jiho follows him, and the only sound is their feet padding on the polished wood floor. Taeil is saying things that no one has ever said to him before. It makes him tense, but he doesn’t know if that’s out of fear, or excitement. Jiho wonders if he should reciprocate any of it. He knows he feels  _ something  _ for Taeil, but he’s not exactly sure what it is yet, and he doesn’t want to put Taeil off. Usually he’s far more talkative than this. He wonders if he’s coming off cold or uninterested - he certainly doesn’t want to do that. All this doubt is giving him a headache. Taeil hasn’t said anything more, either, and Jiho hopes to god it’s just because he’s thinking, too.

Taeil is the first to break the silence. “What do you want to eat?” he asks. He opens yet another door, revealing a huge, pristine kitchen. “I got a bunch of stuff cuz I didn’t know what you like.”

Jiho tries not to stare too much around the kitchen, which is almost the size of his whole apartment. “Ah… anything is good,” he says.

Taeil throws a glare over his shoulder. “That’s the opposite of helpful.” He leads Jiho over to the pantry and throws open the door with a dramatic gesture, then grabs Jiho by the arm and practically pushes him inside. “Don’t be shy. Eat me out of house and home.”

Jiho shoves his hands into his pants pockets and hunches up because all he’s heard is ‘eat me,’ and he hates how much he likes the sound of that. He draws in a deep, slow breath, closes his eyes for a moment to let the image pass. He opens them again and looks into the pantry. Immediately he shakes his head and backs out, shrinking behind Taeil once more, though he’s still grinning. “That’s more food than I’ve ever seen in my life, how am I supposed to decide?”

Taeil squints at Jiho and then murmurs, almost to himself, “God you’re cute.” He takes Jiho’s arm again and guides him gently out of the way, then ducks into the pantry. He rummages around for a minute and eventually resurfaces with a pack of rice noodles, some vegetables and a few small bottles of spices. “Hop up on the counter. I’ll make pho and we can talk.”

Jiho does as Taeil says without a second thought, jumping up to sit on the marble countertop by the stove. He edges to one side as Taeil sets everything by his thighs. Taeil motions for Jiho to lift his legs and once again he obeys, waiting until Taeil has fished out a pot from the cupboard underneath him before he relaxes. Taeil puts on the water to boil. Jiho keeps his hands in his lap, kicking his feet slowly and watching. Taeil glances around, then takes the hem of his sweater and pulls it off, over his head. Jiho catches just a glimpse of his tummy before his t-shirt falls back down, and Taeil tosses him the discarded sweater. Jiho catches it in two hands. He’s surprised at himself for not dropping it, because it feels like everything has dropped, and he can’t think straight for a moment.

Taeil smirks at him and Jiho swears he’s  _ purposely _ flexing as he reaches for a knife to chop the vegetables. “I said,” Taeil hums, “that we can talk.” He dices the green onion with swift fluid motions, not looking up. “But I don’t hear you talking. Do I have to make all the conversation myself? How disappointing.”

“No,” Jiho blurts. “I’m just--”

“Are you always this scatterbrained?” Taeil says, interrupting him with a particularly loud chop on the cutting board. “Or is it just around me?” He scrapes the onion to one side and starts on the other vegetables. “It’s not that common for intelligent people to be particularly inarticulate. But you seemed so smart over text. Are you just nervous?”

This is more than Jiho has heard him say at once, and the outburst startles him. He stammers, trying to form words, but all he can think of is the warm fluffy sweater in his hands and the delicious, expensive-smelling cologne that clings to it.

Taeil looks over at him, expectantly, knife hovering over the board. “Well?”

“Just nervous,” Jiho says, with a maybe too-vigorous nod. “Sorry. I’ll try to talk more.” He resists the urge to add ‘sir’ at the end.

Taeil eyes him silently for another moment, then shakes his head with a muted smile. “What will it take for you to loosen up, hm? I’m just joking with you, baby.”

Jiho almost chokes. “Now you’re just  _ trying  _ to make me tense.”

“Would you rather me call you Jiho, then?” Taeil tears open the pack of noodles and places them into the pot, and Jiho stares at the tattoos on his wrists and the back of his hands, wondering how it would feel to have those fingers wrapped around his waist.

“No,” Jiho says. His head is spinning. “No. Baby is fine.”

Taeil turns down the heat on the burner, calmly, and then looks up at Jiho, placing one elbow on the counter beside his thighs and leaning in. “That’s what I thought,” he says. He reaches out with his other hand and traces his thumb casually over the rose on Jiho’s forearm, and Jiho is painfully self-conscious of the goosebumps crawling up his skin. “This is pretty,” Taeil says. When he blinks, his eyelashes catch on the lenses of his glasses for just a moment before fanning out over his cheeks. “When did you get it?”

“Um…” Jiho swallows, searches frantically for words that are driven away by the soft pads of Taeil’s fingers on his arm. “Last summer.”

Taeil takes Jiho’s wrist between thumb and forefinger and turns his arm over, inspecting it from a new angle. Every touch is gentle, almost hesitant; inwardly, Jiho is begging for more. “Do you have any more, besides on your arms?” Taeil asks.

“Yeah,” Jiho says, voice clipped.

Taeil draws back his hand, glancing up at Jiho with eyes so dark they’re almost black. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m making you uncomfortable.”

“No,” Jiho says. He forces a laugh, rubbing at the side of his neck. “I’m just not used to it, I guess.”

Taeil smiles sweetly. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you.” He pats Jiho’s arm, then turns back to the stove and stirs the noodles with a pair of chopsticks. “I’m nice, even when I don’t look it.”

“I know,” Jiho says. He hesitates, leaning over and glancing into the pot. “Isn’t there anything I can help with?”

“You worked hard today,” Taeil says, shooing him away with one hand. “Just sit there and look pretty. You’ve earned it.” He winks.

Jiho rolls his eyes, though he’s blushing again. “Come on, man. That’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid if it’s true,” Taeil says pleasantly. He lifts the pot and carries it to the sink to drain the water. Jiho shifts on the counter. Taeil’s shirt is still tucked in a little at the back of his jeans, and Jiho can see just how good his butt looks in that tight black denim. He swallows hard. How the hell is he supposed to make it through today without doing something utterly idiotic?

He’s still trying to figure that out when Taeil pours the pho into beautiful blue china bowls and hands one to Jiho. He gives him a pair of matching ceramic chopsticks. Jiho holds the bowl in a delicate two-handed grip, and he’s so hyper focused on not dropping it that he doesn’t look around the dining room when Taeil leads him into it. He sits down, sets everything down carefully, and then lets out a tiny breath, relieved that nothing broke. This is why he hates expensive things, he thinks. They break so easily. It makes him anxious.

Taeil, however, is completely at ease and starts slurping at the broth right away. Not wanting to be impolite, Jiho follows suit. It’s good. Worlds better than the instant, prepackaged stuff he’s used to. Jiho’s stomach growls as he starts to eat, and he finally realizes just how hungry he is.

Taeil stops, watches him for a moment as Jiho drains his bowl. “Poor kid,” Taeil says. “I should have made more.”

Jiho hunches down on himself a bit. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, honey.” Taeil leans forward, then hesitates. After a moment he reaches out with one hand. Presses his thumb to the corner of Jiho’s mouth. A small shiver shoots down Jiho’s spine as Taeil swipes the tip of his finger gently over Jiho’s lower lip, skin catching on skin. And the shiver keeps going, curling back up his spine just when he thinks it’s about to subside, and Jiho squirms in his seat because it’s more than just a sudden chill. 

“There. You had a little something on your face.” Taeil pushes his bowl across the table to Jiho. “Here, eat this, too. You need it more than I do.”

Jiho is so stunned that he doesn’t protest. He takes the bowl with fingers that have gone stiff from the cold, and finishes Taeil’s portion too, though slower than before. He tries to savor it, if only to keep himself from thinking about what’s just happened. Taeil keeps watching him with a small smile on his face and an expression that Jiho can’t read.

“You,” Taeil says, “really are the cutest boy I’ve seen.”

Jiho tries to make a noise of protest, but all that comes out is a whine from the back of his throat. Taeil raises an eyebrow at him, his smirk widening.

“You’re just proving my point,” he says.

“I’m not,” Jiho says.

“Are too.” Taeil takes the dishes from him as soon as he’s finished, one in each hand, fingers curling around the chopsticks to hold them in place. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”  
“I could put those away,” Jiho says feebly.

“Hush. I saw the way you looked at them.” Taeil shakes his head. “It’s like you’ve never seen china before.”

“Not out of a display case,” Jiho says.

“Exactly.”

Taeil disappears, and there’s the sound of running water and a few clinks, and then he returns. He stands by Jiho’s chair, and Jiho looks up at him, a whirl of emotions tugging at his chest, making his breath come fast and shallow. He likes the way it feels, looking up at Taeil rather than down. He likes feeling small.

“Come back to my room,” Taeil says softly. “We’ll put on those records you sold me.”

There’s a tension brewing in the air between them. Jiho can almost taste it. He loves it, and he hates it; he wants it to go away and he wants it to last. He’s a little shaky when he stands up. Taeil takes his hand to help him steady himself, and it’s as shocking to Jiho as it is natural. He lets Taeil’s small, warm fingers weave between his, feels their palms brush together.

“Your hands are so cold,” Taeil says. He pauses in the hallway, pressing Jiho’s hand between his, warming it. Then he switches to the other. The heat makes Jiho’s fingers prickle.

“Is this too much?” Taeil asks.

“No,” Jiho says. “It’s perfect.”

Taeil gives a small smile. His gaze slides down Jiho’s face, leaving his eyes, focusing on his lips. Jiho tenses up. But Taeil does nothing; a moment later, their eyes meet again, almost as if nothing has happened.

Taeil’s room is the most disorganized in the house. Though even that isn’t saying much, because it’s still tidier than Jiho’s apartment. Clothes and shoes and hats are strewn about the room, apparently kicked off and never picked up. But the real clutter is from the books. They’re spilling off the shelf, stacked on the dresser and bedside table, and scattered over the wide mattress. Jiho comes to a halt just inside the doorway, staring around, afraid to even step over Taeil’s things. He waits until Taeil has kicked everything aside before slowly venturing in after him.

“Sorry for the mess,” Taeil says. “I guess I didn’t notice the clutter, being in the middle of it.”

“No, it’s fine,” Jiho says. “It’s nice to see that you’re human after all.”

Taeil laughs. “I’m not sure how anyone could think otherwise. I’m as human as they come. I put my pants on one leg at a time just like everyone else.”

“How do you take them off?” Jiho says, and immediately regrets it. He hurries to apologize. “God, sorry, that was--”

“Hilarious,” Taeil finishes, grinning back at him. “You’re cheeky. I like it.” He piles books from his bed into one stack and carries them off to his shelf, where he sets them down on the floor rather than replacing them.

“Too cheeky,” Jiho says.

“Not for me,” Taeil says. “Have a seat on the bed. Would you rather listen to jazz or classical?”

Jiho takes a seat and watches as Taeil stands on tiptoe to reach the record player on his dresser. “Jazz,” he says.

There’s a smile in Taeil’s voice. “I knew you’d say that.” He fiddles with the record player for a moment, then crosses the room to a shorter shelf, where his records are arranged, neater than any of the books. He shuffles through them for a moment before tugging one out between thumb and forefinger and making his way back over to the dresser.

“Would you like me to put that on for you?” Jiho asks. “You’re a little, well, short for it.”

Taeil flips him off without looking back. Jiho doubles over laughing. “You should have more respect for your hyung,” Taeil says.

“First you tell me not to think too highly of you, and then you tell me to respect you more?” Jiho says, still laughing. “I’m getting conflicted messages.”

Before either of them can say anything more, Taeil drops the needle and the music strikes up, loud compared to the otherwise silent house. Jiho lets the music wash over him, the tinny brass of the trumpets and the low groan of the trombone and the liquid wail of the saxophone. The bed dips as Taeil sits down beside him.

“This,” Taeil says, “is the one I bought from you.”

“It’s good,” Jiho says.

“Very good,” Taeil agrees. “One of my favorites. I was lucky to find it, too. Jazz is meant to be heard in person, but if you can’t have that, the second best thing is to settle for a record.”

Jiho nods. He doesn’t know much about jazz - he’s an art student more than a musician - but he knows a good arrangement when he hears one. They listen together in silence for a long moment.

Taeil is the first to speak. “Do you always do that when you listen to music?”

Jiho opens his eyes, looks questioningly at him. “Do what?”

“Close your eyes,” Taeil says. “You look so peaceful.”

Jiho shrugs. “I guess. It’s just a habit at this point.”

“It’s beautiful,” Taeil says.

Jiho can feel his cheeks and neck go red. He begins to protest, but Taeil’s gaze has drifted to his mouth again, and Jiho’s heart begins to race. He licks his lips, nervously, and Taeil seems to stiffen at the sight.

The song reaches a crescendo. Taeil’s hand finds Jiho’s, almost by accident. But it’s no accident. Jiho can hear the blood rushing in his ears, can feel his heart hammering in time to the music, quick and thrilling, but steady too. Taeil’s eyes are dark and pretty. His huge glasses make his face look smaller, sweeter. Like Jiho could cradle him to his chest and hug him and fall asleep in his arms. Or kiss him and hear him sigh.

The thoughts are dangerous. They make him sweat. And Taeil’s hand is still resting on top of his, and they’re both waiting, without knowing what for.

The song ends. In the silence between tracks, with only the nostalgic hum and skip of the record player in the background, Taeil takes Jiho’s chin in his other hand. This time Jiho melts into the touch. He’s dizzy, and the world spins with an unreal speed, flipping upside down when Taeil pulls him in. Taeil hesitates only when their mouths are close enough for Jiho to taste the heat of his breath.

“May I kiss you?” Taeil asks.

And Jiho can’t say no.

Taeil’s fingers smooth over his jaw, cupping it, one thumb on his cheekbone, his fingers slipping into Jiho’s hair. He weaves the fingers of his other hand with Jiho’s and leans forward from his waist. Taeil’s breath puffs against Jiho’s lips and Jiho’s nose wrinkles, so that when Taeil’s lips meet his, his own mouth has curled into a pout. Taeil exhales a small, breathy laugh. It tickles Jiho’s mouth, and he squirms, but Taeil tilts his wrist just enough to pull Jiho fully into the kiss, and Jiho suddenly forgets everything else.

Eventually, Taeil sits back. His eyes dart over Jiho’s face. There’s a smudge on his glasses from Jiho’s nose. He tugs them off with one hand, sets them on the bed beside him. “You’re a good kisser,” he says, and though his voice is barely audible over the music, Jiho can hear every word.

“Oh,” Jiho says.

Taeil smiles. “The correct response is ‘thank you,’ I believe.” He strokes his thumb over Jiho’s cheek. “I wanted to kiss you the moment I saw you.” His thumb traces down Jiho’s face, across to his mouth. A chill runs up the back of Jiho’s neck as Taeil fingers at his lower lip. “And you’re just as good at it as I’d imagined. You’ve got to be, with lips like this.”

Jiho doesn’t miss the gleam in Taeil’s eyes. His lids are heavy, he’s no longer smiling. There’s a hunger there, that Taeil hasn’t bothered hiding, or at least, hasn’t hidden well. Jiho watches him for a long moment before shutting his eyes and closing his lips around the tip of Taeil’s thumb.

Taeil’s breath catches. Jiho smirks, and sucks Taeil’s finger just a little further into his mouth before looking up at him. Their eyes meet and Taeil curses under his breath.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks softly.

Jiho pushes Taeil’s finger out of his mouth with his tongue. “Nothing,” he says.

Taeil snorts. “Well, that’s clearly not true.” He pulls Jiho toward him and with an easy, fluid motion, gets up to his knees and straddles Jiho’s lap. Jiho clenches his jaw, trying to keep control of his expression.

“Your lips look even prettier,” Taeil says, “when your mouth is full.”

“I know,” Jiho says.

Taeil hums softly to himself for a moment, his eyes gliding over Jiho’s face. “Are you sure you want to do this, baby?”

Jiho’s almost speaking without thinking now. “I’m sure,” he says. “Are you? You’re the idol here. I’m sure people are lining up the block to get a piece of you.”

Taeil smirks. “They are.” He rests his hands on Jiho’s shoulders, and the touch is half-familiar, half-commanding. “But I don’t think I want anyone else.” He hesitates, and for the first time Jiho sees uncertainty in his eyes. “You can’t tell anyone,” he says.

“I’m good at keeping secrets,” Jiho assures him.

“Not your friends, not your family - not even acquaintances - no one.”

“I know,” Jiho says. For good measure he leans in and presses a kiss to Taeil’s cheek, feeling his warmth on his lips. “You can trust me.”

In all honesty, Jiho is expecting Taeil to get up and tell him to leave right then and there. Jiho braces himself for it, prepares for the worst. But Taeil wavers only for a moment before saying, “Yes. I do.” He shakes his head. “That’s a surprise, isn’t it?”

“Thank you,” Jiho says, awkwardly, because he’s it’s not really the right thing to say. He masks his embarrassment by letting his hands drift from Taeil’s arms, to his sides and down, to his waist. Taeil shudders just slightly. That look in his eyes is back.

“God, it’s been forever since I kissed someone,” Taeil says. He reaches up, threads the fingers of his left hand into Jiho’s hair. Just that simple touch makes Jiho twitch with excitement. “I mean, really kissed someone,” Taeil says. “Even longer since I got laid.” Without giving time for Jiho to process this last comment, he leans in, tugging Jiho softly by the hair to tip his head back.

Though this kiss is still gentle, Jiho can taste the desperation behind Taeil’s every move. He’s hyper aware of the way Taeil’s hips roll against his ever so slightly, the way his fingers curl deeper into Jiho’s hair with every passing moment. Taeil kisses with his lips parted, his hot breath spilling into Jiho’s mouth. And Jiho kisses back with the same fiercess, or tries to. It’s hard to match Taeil’s intensity.

There’s a longing there, too, in the way Taeil lingers just a little too long after every kiss, in the way he rubs his body slowly, gently against Jiho’s. Gently, but desperately. Taeil must be so lonely. Suddenly Jiho wants to give him anything, everything, wants to give him what he can’t have. He slides his hands back up Taeil’s chest, cups Taeil’s face. Taeil’s fingers loosen in his hair. He relaxes, finally sitting down on Jiho’s thighs and letting his weight rest in Jiho’s lap. Jiho loves this closeness. He traces his tongue over Taeil’s lips. He licks into Taeil’s mouth. Taeil gives something between a sigh and a moan, shifts his hips forward. It’s wet and messy, with no control at all, and yet the way Taeil’s mouth moves against Jiho’s speaks skill. It leaves Jiho with a craving sensation in his chest, so that every time they come up for air, Jiho wants nothing except to dive in again.

Taeil keeps it interesting. He closes his mouth over Jiho’s lower lip, sucks on it gently. A shudder crawls up Jiho’s spine as Taeil’s tongue drags over his lip, rough, like a kitten’s. Jiho gasps for air but he can’t fill his lungs. Taeil grinds down into his lap. Jiho’s eyes flutter closed. The hand in his hair is back to tugging, pulling Jiho where Taeil wants him to go, and Jiho loves that hint of pain from his scalp as Taeil yanks his head back and presses his lips to Jiho’s throat instead, making him groan.

The silence pulses. Taeil pulls back just enough to speak, his lips still brushing Jiho’s neck. “Does that feel good?”

“Yeah,” Jiho breathes. “Oh yeah.”

“You’re still comfortable?” Taeil purrs. “Shall I continue?”

Jiho nods. He loves that Taeil can sound so sexy, just asking for consent.

He’s not quite sure how it happens. One moment Taeil’s lips are at his neck. The next, Taeil’s smooth palms have pushed up under his shirt, his fingers are exploring, and everywhere his touch goes, Jiho’s skin seems to catch fire. He curls forward into the caress, rests his forehead on Taeil’s shoulder to catch his breath.

Taeil laughs softly in his ear. He brushes his thumbs over Jiho’s nipples, drawing out a small whine that Jiho can’t control. “Lift your arms,” he says.

Jiho does. He lets Taeil pushes the shirt up his torso and pull it off, laying it on the bed beside them. Taeil sits back on his lap and holds him at arm’s length, eyes roaming over his chest, and Jiho resists the momentary urge to curl up and hide.

“Your tattoos are gorgeous,” Taeil says. “But maybe we should keep your shirt on after all.” He presses a thumb Jiho’s chest, just beside the portrait of his mother. “She’s judging me.”

Jiho lets out a nervous giggle. “Yeah, sorry. Forgot to warn you.”

“It’s fine, darling.” Taeil inspects the portrait as he reaches for Jiho’s shirt. “She’s pretty. An aunt?”

“Mother,” Jiho says.

“Lovely.” Taeil looks back up into Jiho’s eyes. “You’ve got to respect a man who loves his family.”

Jiho smiles, a little sheepishly. He lifts his arms and waits obediently for Taeil to slip the shirt back over his head. The music has shifted from intense and heavy to slow and sweet. Jiho sways in time to the melody, closes his eyes again as Taeil’s hands settle at his hips.

“Lay back,” Taeil says softly.

And Jiho does, feeling as if he’s in a dream.

Taeil’s knees are on either side of Jiho’s hips now. One of his hands is planted under Jiho’s arm. The other rests over Jiho’s belly, and the slight pressure is comforting. Jiho keeps his eyes closed. He can see the light overhead through his eyelids, until Taeil’s shadow passes over it. That’s the only warning he gets. And then Taeil is kissing him again, and Jiho hooks his finger in the collar of Taeil’s t-shirt and holds on.

Taeil takes his time; Jiho likes that. He dips down to peck along Jiho’s jaw, on his neck, but doesn’t go further. They kiss until Jiho squeezes his thighs together and tugs at Taeil’s shirt, begging. He can feel Taeil’s laugh hum through his body. The hand on his belly slips up, taking Jiho’s shirt with it, till it bunches under his arms. Taeil’s fingers spider across his chest, and Jiho has never been sensitive but the way Taeil is touching him makes every nerve in his body come to life. Taeil drags in a deep breath and moves down, kisses Jiho’s neck below his ear, tugs his skin between his teeth, pulls back and kisses lower. Jiho feels Taeil grind against him and pushes his hips up. Taeil moans against Jiho’s neck, low and rough, sits up across Jiho’s thighs.

“I’ll get the lights,” he says.

“Please,” Jiho says. He’s a little breathless when he laughs. “I’m blinded.”

Taeil cups the curve of Jiho’s waist, presses his thumb into the dip below his ribcage. “Sorry, honeybee.” He lets go, pushes himself off of Jiho, almost stumbling as he hurries to the door. Jiho laughs again, and sits up to fix his crumpled clothes. Not like that will matter in a moment.

Taeil flips the switch. The room goes dark, save for the last few rays of sunset, muted through the blinds on Taeil’s window. It’s just enough for Jiho to watch as Taeil hesitates, then walks slowly back over to him.

“Something wrong?” Jiho asks as Taeil comes to a halt in front of him, standing over him. They’re the same height this way, with Jiho sitting down. He closes his eyes when Taeil cups his face in both hands. Taeil leans down to kiss him before answering.

“No,” he finally says. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just sleepy.” He smiles.

“If you’re sure,” Jiho says.

“I am.” Taeil stares into Jiho’s eyes for a moment, then chucks him under the chin with a finger before moving over to his music shelf. “I’ll put on something else. Give me just a minute.”

Jiho’s happy when Taeil plays something soft and classical, with a lot of piano and violin. Distinctly romantic. He realizes that of course, Taeil must be like him, must need music to get him into the mood. And Taeil’s taste is good. Even though Jiho has never heard these particular songs before, he can already feel the music surging into his veins, relaxing him even as it energizes him, intoxicating him.

Taeil sits back down on his lap. This time Jiho is ready. This time he pushes Taeil onto his back, making him giggle. And now Jiho’s on top. He nibbles at his neck, startling Taeil into a silence that’s broken only when he moans in Jiho’s ear. The sound is so intimate, so pretty. It leaves Jiho hungry for more. So he takes more. He tugs down the collar of Taeil’s shirt, kissing his exposed chest. Taeil sighs. Gasps, when he feels Jiho’s teeth. He rakes his nails down Jiho’s back. Jiho pushes Taeil a bit further up on the bed, slots one knee between Taeil’s legs. He thinks Taeil is breathing so hard that anyone from miles around could hear.

“Comfortable?” he hums in Taeil’s ear.

“Yes,” Taeil says. “Take off my shirt, Jiho.” His voice is low, commanding.

Jiho does what he says, a little hurriedly, because the invitation is almost too good to believe. And then for a moment he just stares. Once again he’s startled at just how muscular Taeil is under all those clothes. He runs his fingers over the owl’s feathers inked into Taeil’s chest, tracing the outline of the design, slowly, as he starts to rub his thigh between Taeil’s legs. He leans in to taste Taeil’s moans. He starts to lose himself in the music, in the sensations that are too unfamiliar and too perfect to be real.

“You’re such a tease,” Taeil breathes. His hands brush over Jiho’s sides before slipping down the back of his jeans. Jiho holds still as Taeil tugs his pants down his thighs, slowly. He has to roll off of Taeil to pull them off completely. Taeil props himself up on one elbow and Jiho wastes no more time before slipping Taeil’s pants off him, too. They’re both still for a long moment, drinking each other in. Then, with the swell of the orchestra, Taeil pulls Jiho close and wraps him up in his arms. “Don’t be afraid to touch me, too,” Taeil says. And his hand slips down Jiho’s chest, until his palm rests over his crotch.

Jiho tries to hold back a sound but he can’t. He squirms closer, pushes his hips into Taeil’s hand, almost curiously. Taeil chuckles. One hand rubs Jiho’s back, soothing, as he wraps his fingers around Jiho and squeezes.

“Are you a virgin, Jiho?” Taeil asks.

“No,” Jiho manages. It’s hard to think. Taeil has said his name so perfectly.

“Hm.” Taeil rubs his thumb over Jiho’s tip through his boxers, and Jiho’s moan is slightly strangled. “You sure act like it.”

“Just sensitive,” Jiho says. “Been a while.”

Taeil kisses him, slips his tongue into Jiho’s mouth and lets him suck on it for a moment before pulling away. “How would you like to suck me off, honey?”

If it was any earlier in the night, Jiho would have said no. But he’s too far gone. All he can think about is drawing out more of those lovely moans. And besides, it’s been far too long since he’s sucked dick. He misses making someone feel so good that they can’t help gasping his name.

“Yeah,” he says. And then “oh god,” when Taeil pumps along his length, twice, tender but firm. “Fuck. Please.”

Taeil chuckles again and slips one hand up into Jiho’s hair. “So desperate,” he chides. He presses lightly on the top of Jiho’s head, guiding him down. Jiho follows his touch, moving to spread Taeil’s thighs and sit between them. Taeil props himself up on one elbow. His fingers are still woven in Jiho’s hair. “Would you like me to guide you, since it’s been so long?” he asks.

Jiho nods, maybe too vigorously. Taeil tugs softly on his hair, making Jiho look up at him. “Tell me if I’m being too forceful,” he murmurs.

Jiho nods again, a smaller motion this time. He hesitates, then pushes against Taeil’s hand just slightly and kisses his belly, just above his navel. Taeil strokes his head and loosens his grip to let Jiho have his way. Jiho takes full advantage of the opportunity: he kisses all over Taeil’s belly, his sides, his hips, gradually moving down. He sits up, scoots back, dips in once more, this time pressing his lips to Taeil’s inner thigh.

Taeil hums a sound that Jiho can’t interpret. “Stop teasing and take off my boxers, baby.”

Jiho doesn’t need to be told twice. He takes Taeil’s boxers in two hands and tugs them down his hips. Taeil strokes Jiho’s face as he does so, his fingers brushing from Jiho’s cheekbone to his cheek, across his mouth.

“Your lips are so pretty,” he murmurs. “Give me a kiss, darling.”

Jiho figures this is open to interpretation. Instead of moving back up to kiss Taeil on the lips, he leans in and presses his mouth gently to the tip of Taeil’s cock. Taeil’s breath hitches in his throat, but he doesn’t say anything. Jiho doesn’t have the patience to wait for more instructions. He kisses along Taeil’s length to his base, holding Taeil’s hip to feel him squirm.

“Been a while for you, too, hasn’t it?” Jiho asks, lips just grazing Taeil’s skin.

“Yeah,” Taeil says. “Jiho, fuck. You’re already doing amazing.”

Jiho grins up at him, runs his hands over Taeil’s thighs before taking his cock in one hand and closing his mouth over the tip. Taeil lets out a pretty sigh; his head falls back, his chest heaves. Jiho gives him a few gentle sucks, pops off with a wet noise, licks along one large vein up from his base. And Taeil covers his mouth with a hand.

The music is slow, serene, and so Jiho follows suit. He covers Taeil in soft kitten licks as the violin flows. He gives him a few quick sucks when the piano goes staccato. And when the song reaches a crescendo, filling the room with an intensity that pangs melancholy through his chest, Jiho goes down on him until his mouth is full, until his lips brush against Taeil’s base.

Taeil curses, snatching at Jiho’s hair. He tugs him close, holds him down. Jiho almost chokes, but he’s good at this, he has experience. He breathes through his nose. Relaxes his throat. Music washes over him as his hearing returns, and he begins to suck slowly, rhythmically. He feels Taeil twitch in his mouth and laughs, though the sound is just an indistinguishable throaty hum. That vibration draws out another sound from Taeil, who seems to groan from his chest, low and rough.

Jiho struggles to look up at him. His eyes roll back as Taeil pushes gently into his face, making him fight to hold back his gag reflex.

“You’re so fucking handsome,” Taeil says. His voice is high, a complete contrast to his growling moans.

Jiho wants to thank him, but of course, he can’t.

Taeil struggles up into a sitting position. Cradling Jiho’s head in one hand, he guides him up and down, tugging Jiho’s hair and then pushing carefully at the back of his head. He goes so slow it’s almost relaxing, until he presses against the back of Jiho’s throat, and Jiho’s eyes water. Taeil’s beautiful sighs mingle with the music as naturally as if they were recorded in.

At some point, Taeil pulls him off just long enough to coax him off the bed, so Jiho’s kneeling on the floor and Taeil’s sitting at the edge of the bed. It’s a little more comfortable this way. Jiho spends a moment just resting his cheek against the inside of Taeil’s thigh, waiting for him to get comfortable, staring dreamily into his face. When Taeil looks down and meets his eyes, he laughs softly.

“You’re so cute,” Taeil says.

Jiho squeezes his eyes shut and smiles. It’s been so long since he’s been spoiled with compliments like this, and he missed it.

Taeil takes his chin in one warm hand and with a small squeeze, opens Jiho’s jaw. Jiho obediently parts his lips, his whole body going tingly as he feels Taeil push over his tongue once more.

“Show me what you can do,” Taeil purrs.

Jiho thinks he falls in love with that voice a little more every time he hears it.

He clasps his hands together in his lap and swallows Taeil whole. This time Taeil really gasps, unrestrained. His thighs tremble around Jiho’s head as he moves just a little closer. Jiho bobs his head, slow at first, then quicker, changing tempo as one song ends and another begins. Taeil’s nails dig into his scalp now, but he lets Jiho keep control. Jiho takes full advantage of that. He goes at his own pace, quickening to hear Taeil groan, then slowing down again to make him whine. Soon Taeil is struggling to speak.

“Fuck. Jiho. I’m already--” he yanks at Jiho’s hair. “Hold still, honey.”

Jiho looks up at him, and from this angle they can lock eyes. Jiho pulls back until his lips are just barely closed around Taeil’s cock. He watches as Taeil squeezes his eyes shut, draws in a deep breath, and then meets his gaze again.

“I’ll pull out,” he says.

Jiho smiles and wraps his fingers around Taeil’s base, pulling off him just long enough to say, “You don’t have to.”

Taeil seems to shudder with pleasure. “Are you sure?”

In response, Jiho swirls his tongue over his tip, then closes his eyes and goes back down. He uses his hand too, this time, twisting and stroking as he sucks, and Taeil starts to lose it.

The record ends. Jiho can hear every noise they’re making and it only edges him on. He curls his tongue along Taeil’s shaft, goes down on him fully, one more time. Taeil growls something Jiho can’t hear and slips both hands into Jiho’s hair, holding on tight. His hips lift, pushing against Jiho’s face; Jiho can feel the trembling in his thighs. Jiho moans. He feels Taeil twitch again, more violently, and squeezes his eyes shut as Taeil pulls his hair, tugs him off completely with a sloppy sound. With a curse, Taeil cums hot and heavy across Jiho’s lips.

There’s a moment where neither of them moves. Finally Jiho wipes the stickiness from his lips and sticks his fingers in his mouth, cracking open one eye to look at Taeil. He licks himself clean, watching as Taeil just breathes, head tipped back, stroking himself slowly.

“I don’t--” Jiho stops, clears his throat to regain his voice. “I don’t know why you pulled out,” he says, “after I told you not to.”

Taeil laughs, a little breathlessly. “Sorry.”

“It’s more awkward than cumming in my mouth.” Jiho drags a finger across the front of his shirt, cleaning off the drop that spilled free. “I’m going to have a stain on my shirt.”

Taeil eyes him before saying, “That’s the only way to get you to shut up, huh? When there’s something in your mouth?”

Jiho flushes red and sucks the last of the cum off his finger.

“I’m just joking, love,” Taeil says with a laugh. He strokes Jiho’s hand, which still rests on his bare thigh. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Turn on the lights? And grab me a towel?” He smiles, and Jiho thinks he can spot the first hint of shyness he’s seen so far. “I’m not sure I can walk properly, not in the dark at least.”

Jiho grins. “Was it that good?” He kisses Taeil’s thigh once more, then stands up, and stumbles over to the light, almost tripping over a stray shoe.

“Yeah, actually,” Taeil says, stretching, rolling his shoulders. “It was pretty damn good.”

Jiho smiles to himself and flicks on the light, making Taeil cover his eyes with a groan.

Jiho lays back down on the bed as Taeil starts mopping himself up. He curls up like a cat around Taeil where he sits, wrapping one arm around his waist. Taeil pauses for a moment, looks at him.

“You’re cute,” Taeil says. “Have I told you that yet?”

“Yep,” Jiho says. “Thanks,” he adds, because he doesn’t want to seem rude.

Taeil sets the towel aside and rests one hand on Jiho’s hip, twisting around to catch a glimpse of Jiho’s face. “Ah, silly me. You’d like some attention too.” He stretches, leans backwards over Jiho, almost crushing him. Jiho squawks indignantly and rolls away. “Give me a minute,” Taeil says, standing up. “I’ll get something for us to drink. I’m sure your throat is a little sore anyway.”

Jiho sways as he sits up, blinks when he realizes Taeil is already gone, the door cracked open just an inch. He looks around blearily for his jacket, but he must have left it in the entryway. He thinks about untucking Taeil’s duvet and wrapping himself up in it, but he doesn’t want to make any more of a mess than he already has. So he just sits there, kicking his feet against the bed and anticipating what Taeil will do.

Taeil comes back a few minutes later with a six pack of beer and a mug of tea with the sachet still in. He sets the tea on his bedside table, then hops up on the bed and offers Jiho a bottle. “I wasn’t sure if you’d prefer tea or beer.”

In response Jiho pops the lid off the beer with one hand and takes a long swig, watching Taeil the whole time. Taeil’s smile grows the longer Jiho drinks, until he barks out a laugh - the sound is so comical that Jiho chokes. He wedges the bottle between his thighs and wipes away the beer that’s dribbling down his chin with one hand.

“This is fine,” Jiho says, laughing.

“Clearly,” Taeil says, and takes a sip from his own bottle. “You’re a thirsty boy.”

“Don’t fucking say it like that,” Jiho giggles.

“Sure,  _ now _ you’re embarrassed.”

Jiho takes another long swig. “What were you saying about giving me attention?”

Taeil rolls his eyes, but his smile gives him away. “Well, you probably would like me to do something for you, after you sucked me off so nicely.”

“Oh,” Jiho says.

“That’s all you can say?  _ Oh? _ ”

“I don’t want to ruin my chances,” Jiho says.

Taeil regards him carefully, his smile broadening. “You’re so obedient,” he says. “I was expecting more of a brat.”

“Nah,” Jiho says. “Too tired for that today.”

“Maybe we should just go to bed then,” Taeil says, mischief creeping into his voice. He places his ice-cold beer against Jiho’s exposed thigh. Jiho shrieks and almost spills his own as he scrambles away.

“ _ Fucker. _ Why would you do that?”

Taeil raises his eyebrows in expression of mock innocence. “Do what?”

“Well, now I’m wide awake,” Jiho grumbles.

“Exactly,” Taeil says. “So do you want any tonight or not?”

Jiho hunches his shoulders up to his ears and grips the neck of his bottle a little tighter, looking away. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind it, necessarily.”

“I won’t do anything you don’t want,” Taeil says placidly. “But if you do, I just need you to ask for it, so we both know I’m not pushing myself on you.”

Jiho stares at him, mouth open. He’s never been with anyone so polite, so formal. He finally remembers where he is, that this isn’t just some random hookup. That there are consequences if things go wrong. That this is the reason they’re in Taeil’s house at all.

He gulps, and nods. “Yeah. Please,” he says, because he’s suddenly a little too shy to ask for anything explicitly. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

Taeil chuckles. “Of course I wouldn’t mind. I offered it in the first place.” He raises his bottle, clinks it against Jiho’s in a silent cheer, and drains the last of it before leaning over the bed and carefully setting it down. Jiho quickly follows suit. And then he just sits there and looks at Taeil, expectantly.

Taeil’s eyebrows arch even higher up his forehead. “For someone who talks so much, you’re really bad at using your words.” Before Jiho can protest, Taeil lays down on his side, beckoning Jiho to lay down beside him. Jiho does, so they’re face to face again.

Neither of them say anything as Taeil takes Jiho by the shirt, tugs him closer. His icy fingers brush Jiho’s belly before slipping down the front of his underwear. Jiho yelps, and tries to curl away, but Taeil grabs his shirt with his other hand and pulls him back again.

“What’s wrong?” Taeil says.

“Your hands,” Jiho gasps. “Cold as shit.”

Taeil smiles and kisses Jiho’s nose, fingers moving inside Jiho’s underwear. Jiho’s body pulses as he resists the urge to pull away again. “Feels good, though, doesn’t it?” he asks.

Jiho nods. Words are getting hard. He buries his face in Taeil’s neck, huddling closer as shivers rack his body. Taeil’s fingers move expertly, squeezing and stroking, and the chill only makes his skin burn hotter.

Taeil kisses Jiho’s ear. “Too cold, baby?” Without waiting for an answer, he cups Jiho in one hand and pushes just slightly, guiding him up on the bed. He tucks Jiho under the blankets, pulls the covers over their heads, so they’re in darkness once more. Jiho lets out a tense breath and hugs Taeil tight.

He can taste the alcohol on Taeil’s tongue when they kiss. Taeil’s hand warms as it plays with Jiho, almost lazily. Jiho closes his eyes and throws one leg over Taeil’s hips, so he can get a better angle.

Taeil talks to him as he strokes him, his voice low, but almost conversational. “You’re a big boy. Does that feel good, sweetie? I just adored the way you sucked me off, so it’s only fair that I make you feel good, too. Oh shit. You’re getting so hard.”

Jiho can only mumble in response.

Eventually, the hazy pleasure builds enough to cloud his mind, and he drifts into a dreamy stupor, only occasionally rutting his hips or moaning in Taeil’s ear. Taeil kisses his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, tells him how pretty he sounds, how good he’s being. Jiho wishes he can float like this forever, shrouded in Taeil’s touch and surrounded by his voice.

His hips jerk against Taeil’s thighs when he cums, and he’s left gasping into Taeil’s neck, clinging to his shoulders as Taeil eases him through his climax.

Jiho grabs the blankets and covers his face with them when Taeil finally gets up to wipe his hands clean. He feels unraveled, vulnerable, and it takes him a long minute to push away his embarrassment. But Taeil comes back, slips back under the sheets with him, and the way he cleans Jiho up, with little intermittent kisses to his temples and a gentle hand, makes Jiho feel secure once again.

“I’m guessing you want to stay the night here,” Taeil murmurs. There’s a fondness to his voice that makes Jiho go all warm and tingly inside.

“Yeah,” Jiho says. “If I can.”

“Of course.” Taeil strokes his hair back and presses a kiss to his forehead. He carefully pulls the blankets down, then helps Jiho sit up and offers him another beer. Jiho takes it gladly. He sits curled against Taeil’s legs, sipping at his drink, until Taeil lays back and guides him into his lap. Taeil tucks Jiho’s head against his chest; Jiho hums happily and listens to Taeil’s heart. It’s hammering almost faster than his own.

Then Taeil talks to him. First about the composer of the record they’d listened to earlier. He gives the man’s history, background, the cultural context in which the music was composed. He rubs Jiho’s shoulders, his back, strokes his sides. Jiho isn’t listening, he knows; but that doesn’t matter. Taeil talks about the rarest albums in his collection, about how some of them have inspired his own music. Jiho starts breathing deeper, heavier against his chest, and the empty beer bottle droops in his fingers. Taeil takes it and sets it aside.

He ends up talking about fish, too, because really what else does he know besides fish and music?

And Jiho falls asleep with his arms wrapped around Taeil’s waist. Taeil strokes his hair, trailing off into silence as he hears Jiho’s first soft snore. He smiles and lifts Jiho just enough to lay him back against the pillows. Jiho stirs only a little. He reaches out, eyes closed, and curls his fingers around Taeil’s pullover, holding tight, like a child. Taeil’s smile lingers as he lays down beside him.

He’s lucky. To feel loved, to feel normal, if only for a day.

  
  


The End


End file.
